slap down back around
by isawet
Summary: As a conclusion of a freak lab experiment, Bruce loses the ability to be the Hulk. He realizes this leaves him with a certain window of opportunity. Bruce Gen, trigger warnings for depression and attempted suicide.


Bruce shoots himself in Mexico City. He's been running, running for so long and so hard and he can't remember what it was like not to have dust in the creases of his skin and dirt and blood under his fingernails, what good food tastes like, what Betty's hair smelled like.

He wakes up mostly naked three cities away on top of a dead goat.

/

Years later and he's losing his temper on his hands and knees in the belly of a flying machine. His last thought is that Natasha Romanov is supposed to be some kind of expert assassin, maybe she'll finish the job.

He wakes up thousands of miles lower, very naked with a dead pigeon under his ankle and a man asking him if he's an alien.

/

One year after that and Bruce accidentally activates an artifact in a SHIELD lab. He spends three days vomiting everything he's ever eaten in his entire life, all the way back to the first jar of mashed peas, and then loses his temper spectacularly at a styrofoam cup of instant decaf. And nothing happens. Bruce stares at his own hands. The nurse looks like she's just found Jesus, and backs out of there before he turns green and smashes her with the other guy's little finger.

"Woah," Tony says, and slaps him on the back. "Good for you, man."

Steve frowns at him before remembering he's supposed to be happy for Bruce. "Are you coming to training sessions anyway?"

Bruce goes to see Betty.

/

She's more beautiful than he remembers her, if that's even possible, more so for the lines around her eyes and mouth that Bruce never got to trace with his own fingers. Bruce hesitates, balks in the cover of a group of trees, watches her turn the page of her book, smile at the waddling ducks.

A man comes to kiss her on the cheek, and she lights up at the sight of him, his palm against the curve of her face. He sits beside her on the bench, and they kiss just as the breeze ruffles past and brings the scent of her straight to Bruce's nose, lilies and lilacs, Betty with the long brown hair.

/

Bruce returns to the labs, and his assistant flutters her hands him.

"You should enjoy your vacation," she says, wringing her wrists. "before it wears off."

Before it wears off, Bruce thinks.

/

Bruce sits on the edge of his mattress and lines up little circles of white on the bedside table. He does lines of four, and then six, and then arranges them in lines of three.

He goes to eat dinner.

/

"Hey," Natasha says, and slides across from him in the mess. There's a circle of empty benches around them, the Hulk radius, designated by protocol.

"Good evening," he says politely, and picks the excess of bread off the edges of his sandwich. He drinks his glass of water dry.

"You okay?" Natasha asks, and Bruce smiles.

"I think I'm just a little tired," Bruce says apologetically, and slides his tray away from him.

Natasha arches an eyebrow. "Really?"

Bruce thinks this is the longest, deepest conversation they've ever had. "Exhausted, really," he says. "I think I'll just go to bed if it's all the same."

Natasha shrugs. "It's all the same to me."

"Me too," Bruce says blandly.

/

_Third time is the charm,_ Bruce thinks, and swallows every row. He washes it down with plenty of water and lies back on his mattress. He stares at the ceiling until his eyes close.

/

The first thing Bruce sees is Natasha.

"So," she says. Bruce's throat feels scraped raw, his stomach is rolling.

"So," he croaks. Natasha offers him an ice chip.

"Exhausted is the new suicidal?" her voice is very sharp. Bruce accepts the ice chip, and it makes him feel a lot better than he thought it would.

"How long do I have," he asks, "until it wears off?"

"A week," Natasha says. "Ice chip?"

"Yes please."

"Good luck," she continues, "having one second to yourself between now and then."

Bruce takes another ice chip, and then another. "Is that so?"

Natasha eats one of his ice chips and sets the cup aside. "Steve is coming to relieve me at five. Expect a lot of lectures and emotionally stunted gesturing."

"I look forward to it," Bruce says. He doesn't.

"Tony is furious," Natasha says. "Pepper is currently protecting you from his particular brand of self-help."

"I'm indebted," Bruce says, and he kind of is.

Natasha leans back and props her boots on the edge of his hospital bed. Bruce takes a moment to appreciate the fact he isn't in restraints. Natasha produces a nail file and starts shaping her right index fingernail.

"We are going to keep you trapped in this mortal coil," Natasha says, "whether you like it or not and against your will if necessary."

Bruce stares at the ceiling. Four is a terribly unround number. "Okay," he says.


End file.
